


The Genius and the Doctor

by FallingForKonoha



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Eventual Johnlock, F/M, Female Sherlock Holmes, Friends to Lovers, Genderbending, Parentlock, Romance, eventually will earn its E rating, fem!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 9,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1282588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingForKonoha/pseuds/FallingForKonoha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes is many things. Tall, brilliant, beautiful. A great woman, and almost a good one. But there was always something missing, that is, until she met Dr John Watson</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to Brit pick the story a bit, not actually English here so it's bound to have some American-ness hidden within  
> Chapters will be short but plentiful, always open to suggestions for different topics

Finding a flatmate was miserable, especially for a wounded solider like John Watson

With a limp in his step, and the damage etched throughout every line and wrinkle on his face, he knew he didn’t exactly scream ‘great choice’ during first meetings  
The war had drained him, both mentally and physically. Leaving him the whisper of the man he once was. No more casual smiles, no more running, fooling around, joking, and laughing. Forced happiness and sleepless nights, that’s what he had become, what he was afraid he’d always be

Who would ever want a flatmate like him?

Then, came in Mike, oh Mike, an old friend he knew before he even enlisted, the once fit man was now round and jolly, a smile plastered on his face when he greeted John too enthusiastically, reminding the doctor of the kind of man he’d once been

_Did I really use to be that happy?_

Then the topic reached its destination, old friends catching up leading to a potential flatmate who apparently seemed to be just as awkward and difficult as he was  
Naturally, he jumped at the chance to meet with the ‘Sherlock’ Mike went on about; happy to discuss living arrangements. At least, this way, he could stay in London. As long this Sherlock didn’t kill people, or had a habit of bring women (or men, whichever he preferred) home at odd hours, he was as good a flatmate as anyone in his book.

 

Imagine his surprise when the doors of Bart’s swung open to reveal a woman, a few years his junior, with curly brown black hair reaching down to her chest in a waterfall of natural spirals and eyes that seemed hell bent on being every color available

Of course Mike had on a smug smile when John had turned back to him, utterly confused. 

She hadn’t spared him a glance, only when he offered his phone, opening her mouth with a simple question. 

Looking back, he realized it was at that very moment she seemed to capture all his attention, like the world had narrowed, tunneling his vision to the beautiful, tall genius. It wasn’t until much later did he realize just how much that Sherlock Holmes managed to take from him that day

 

_“Afghanistan or Iraq?”_

 

It was half mumbled under her breath, and he wasn’t even sure he’d heard her correctly

As would be in the future, she seemed to be moving a thousand miles a second, already deciding to move on in the conversation and it felt so much like being lost at sea, swept away where all he could do is nod and listen to her with an awestruck expression as she offer him an address

She was an odd one, that Sherlock, brilliant beyond his understanding, and somehow, in that instant she spoke, he knew, he knew deep down that 221 B Baker street would be his new home

Granted, he never planned on sharing a flat with a woman, not one he wasn’t romantically involved with at least, but it would seem, even that would change with time


	2. Meaningless

How in the hell did she think it was even remotely acceptable behavior?

He could handle body parts in the fridge, violin at 2am, even the occasional gunshot at the wall, but this? This was asking too much of the doctor. 

John hunched his broad shoulders, sinking deeper into his chair, praying to any deity that was listening to just let the earth open up and swallow him whole

His flatmate, the questionable character that she was, was currently roaming around the flat, waving a hammer in her free hand with every fling of her arms, a danger to herself and anyone within a foot of her

This was to be expected by now, of course, he’d grown so accustomed to Sherlock’s fits of boredom, but never once had it gone this far

“I was so certain I could duplicate it!” She yelled for the third time, moving in quick, fast paces in front of her couch before dramatically dropping onto it, as if her bones became jelly and could no longer hold the weight of her massive intellect.

The loud ‘Thud!’ of the ‘murder’ weapon hitting the floor made him flinch slightly, which Sherlock didn’t seem to notice

John stole quick glances from over the top of his paper, before burying his suntanned face in it, trying so damn hard to focus on the tiny printed letters and not his half naked genius of a flatmate

She laid there, with one pale arm draped over her eyes, the other still clutching her weapon hung loosely to the side. What was normally covered by a striped blue dressing gown and too short pajama pants was bare, the pale expands of her long, a bit too thin torso in direct line with John’s all too greedy eyes, practically singing to him to allow his gaze to wonder over her beautifully lean body. The only clothing to hide her modesty was a pair of boxer shorts (His, which seemed to shock him more the sight with the sheer intimacy of it) and a pale pink bra to house her small and humble chest

“Not a single case in a week! A week, John! You'd think murders would be more creative!” She punctured each sentence with a groan, breathing in deeply, before launching up, like a string attached to her was pulled taut, and she turned her head to look straight at him

“I need them”

“No” He replied sternly, folding his paper and setting it to the side, his arms crossing defiantly. 

“Ugh!” Another fling of her arms, sending the hammer off to the side, skittering wildly before thumping against the wall, leaving a dent Ms. Hudson was sure to notice later 

Her long thin fingers dug their way into her unruly curls and pulled them loose, allowing them to fall around her face in uneven waves of brown that looked almost red in the noon lighting flickering in from the window

“Sherlock, where are your clothes?” John finally asked, with a clear of his throat, trying to seem casual

She looked at him, as if she had forgotten she was bloody half naked on the couch, and he stared back unmoving, already used to the way her eyes flickered over every inch of his face, deducing everything in a simple second

“Soiled” She responded with a wave of her hand, dismissive as always

“How?” He asked, though he wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to know

“Mucus, honestly, John, one shouldn't feel obligated to wear clothing in one's own home; I only dressed to maintain boundaries”

He snorted at that, hiding his half laugh with a cough, though it was obvious she heard it anyways

Ridiculous, thinking that a bra and HIS boxers were what she considered appropriate attire to parade around in in front of her male flatmate

From across the room, the sound of a beep made itself known, and Sherlock held out her hand, expectantly

John, against his better judgment, fetched the mobile and returned it to Sherlock’s slender fingers, watching her with a half smile as she plucked away at the keys quickly, a smile breaking out across her face, and she launched off the couch to run into her room

A case then, his smile grew, and he walked towards the coat rack, pulling on his jumper, and holding out Sherlock’s coat when she reappeared completely dressed, helping her shrug into the fabric before making their way down the steps towards wherever the Work called them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's a drawing of Sherlock Holmes in John's boxers drawn by yours truly:  
> 


	3. Curious

“Out with it, John” Sherlock mumbled, lips barely moving as she narrowed her all seeing gaze into the microscope in front of her

“I’m sorry, what?” He asked

“You’ve repeatedly glanced my way 4 times every minute for the past half hour” She sighed, straightening in her seat and turning her gaze on him “It’s distracting”

Immediate flush of cheeks, eyes darting off to the side, arms crossing in a defensive posture. He was embarrassed by being caught, Sherlock noticed, though it wasn’t like she cared. Feeling his eyes on her made it difficult to ignore his presence, as if the doctor was radiating warmth, shining a bright neon sign that screamed 'I’M HERE PAY ATTENTION TO ME'

“You’re curious about something, I can hear you thinking” She sighed when no response came “Ask so I can get back to work”

Rubbing of the neck, defeated slump of shoulders

“Just…Donovan…”

_Donovan?_ She leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. Wasn’t what she was expecting, a personal question perhaps, something involving her love life, or lack there of, sexual history and such, but to bring up Donovan at a time like this…

“If you're thinking about starting a relationship with her, keep in mind she prefers men who are already married.” Her lips pulled slightly downwards at the corners “Though I suppose she sees you as unavailable due to our current arrangement” vague gesture between them, like the air there spoke for her “Perhaps that works in your favor”

“What? No! That’s not what I meant”

Hand over his face, annoyance at Sherlock’s assumption, like it was far off base

That put her uneasy nerves to rest, not fully understanding why the idea of John and Donovan made her skin almost crawl

Maybe the idea of her spending the night in what had become Sherlock’s sanctuary was the root of the issue

Filed away for further analysis

“Then what about her?”

“What’s her problem with you? I know you’re not the easiest person to get on with…but there is a limit”

“People are often threatened by genius, John”

“Lestrade isn’t”

“Lestrade abides me because I get the cases solved. If I observed as well as his team, he’d have left me behind long ago” A pained edge touched her voice, and she turned back to the microscope with a sense of finality, mumbling the last words under her breath “Honestly, John, you forget just how little normal people understand”

“It’s…a difficult thing to understand, Sherlock” John said hesitantly, as if afraid of the turn the conversation was taking. Perhaps he should’ve seen it coming, broaching a sensitive   
topic like that, but he always just assumed Donovan’s hatred of Sherlock was rooted to just envy, of her brains, her looks, or something equally as petty, the idea of anyone hating her at her core was too far stretched to him. Sherlock, though a lot of things, was not someone to hate, just somewhat annoying

Sherlock didn’t reply to his last comment, and breathing out a shaky sigh, he contemplated just dropping the subject, it would certainly be easier

“But I try” He added after several minutes of silence, his voice piercing the speechless air and caused her to tense just slightly, before relaxing again, shoulders slumping

“Hmm, yes…but you’re special”

There was a smile in her voice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any chapter suggestions to give, like ideas for short chapters, I'd be happy to accept them!


	4. Danger Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: Drugs/mentions of past drug use  
> Tw: Mentions of sex slavery

_‘I worry about her…constantly…’_  
  
Those words hadn’t made as much sense to him back then. While worrying for your younger sibling was always something he could relate to, even Sherlock running around and jumping off rooftops didn’t seem to faze him. She could take care of herself, at least physically, able to take down a man twice her size unarmed with her fighting skills alone.  
  
So, why worry?  
  
  
Danger nights. Mycroft had warned him about them, through a text, usually, or a well timed phone call, letting him know a specific day, hour, or even minute of risk, making sure the doctor kept his little sister from O.D.ing seemed like Mycroft’s main use for John, not that he minded, he’d do anything to keep Sherlock sober. He just never noticed these days, Sherlock was always her usual self, overly confident with a god complex; her mouth laced with silver and misdirected boredom being shot at unsuspecting strangers. She didn’t seem to be any different at all  
  
He began to wonder if Mycroft was being as overly dramatic as his sister  
  
But, it seemed, even John could tell today was a bit not good.

  


  
This case, of a sex slave ring which sold almost exclusively children, was already making it’s way under his skin when Sherlock first took a look, and after a week, she managed to nearly take the whole thing apart. But, it would seem, not fast enough, for by the time they and Lestrade’s team brought down the doors to the main warehouse, the operators had decided to dispose of their ‘merchandise’ to keep them from identifying the locations of the other houses and cliental, leaving Scotland Yard to find a room full of corpses with matching bullet holes in their foreheads.  
  
The oldest of them was not a day over 12

Everyone had been affected, Sally turning around and burying her tear filling eyes in Lestrade’s shoulder, whose face had pulled into a mask of anger and remorse.  
Even John, who had spent all that time at war, had seen so much bloodshed and pain, could not have been prepared for this, and he darted his eyes to the floor, cursing god under his breath for allowing something like this to happen, to children who had already had such a hard life as it was.  
  
Sherlock hadn’t reacted in the slightest, simply looking around, noting all the details and announcing where the other children were being held, immediately departing after that.  
  
He could tell she was affected, however, regardless of what she tried to let other’s believe, even with a face of indifference and a tone as steady as stone, John could see it in the slight stiffness in her stride, feel it in the tension during the cab ride home, hear it as she slammed the front door shut, so loudly Ms. Hudson came out, fusing, which Sherlock ignored as she climbed the 17 steps up to their flat two at a time  
  
And it hit John then  
  
She blamed herself

When he made his way up, she was laying down again, sprawled out on the couch, fingertips of both hands together under her nose  
  
 _Thinking, then?_  
  
“Sherlock…?” He asked cautiously, taking note that she hadn’t brother to remove her coat as he pulled off one of his jumpers  
  
She didn’t reply, not even a hum, and the blank stare she gave the ceiling gave him chills  
  
It was like she wasn’t there, her mind far off and unaware of her surroundings, the glazed over eyes and emotionless expression torn his heart into little pieces  
  
She could talk herself up all she wanted, but Sherlock Holmes was no sociopath, and right in that moment, it was as clear as day that she was human, brilliant and beyond any other on the planet, but human nonetheless.  
  
Of course, now was one of the only times he wished she didn’t feel like she claimed, because she wouldn’t have to suffer, to shoulder guilt that wasn’t even hers to claim  
  
He knew words would fall flat, that no matter what he said, how much he repeated that it wasn’t her fault; they were no more than empty statements to her  
At a time like this, John knew she just needed a constant, something to anchor her to reality so she didn’t drift into the dark places of her mind, places that may trigger some memories of needles breaking flesh  
  
So he approached, heading towards the end of the couch were her feet reached to the other arm, noting that if it were he sprawled out about it, his legs wouldn’t take up the whole thing  
  
There was no room for him to sit, as if she made sure of it every time she dominated the sofa. Deciding to take the risk, he simply reached down and lifted her legs by the fabric of her trousers, smiling softly at the widening of her eyes in surprise, the contact snapping her out of her own thoughts. He sat himself down, before replacing her legs upon his lap, reaching for the control to turn on the telly  
  
She shifted slightly to better adjust their positions, and went back to her thoughts, though John noted, with relief, that there was the slightest smile that appeared almost shyly on the corner of her lips  
  
He may not be able to do a lot of things  
  
But at least this was something he was capable of


	5. Mind Palace

This wasn’t something normal, he knew, but he long given up hope of that when living with a mad person, so he just remained silent, lying down next to the couch on the floor, mirroring her position and pressing his fingers together under his chin

She exhaled loudly and he did the same

She was sorting, putting pieces of information gathered through the case in some special room in her mind palace to look at later, deleting what she found useless  
  
He joined her, because why the hell not? Curiosity getting the best of him, he shut his eyes and tried to imagine the inside of his head, only to be greeted with Baker St behind his closed lids

Seems like he wasn’t much for imagination, or that if any place was to house his memories and life for the past few months Baker St was as good as any

Sherlock let out a low hum, deep from within her chest, rumbling out almost like a cat’s purr

He peeked an eye open, looking at her surprisingly peaceful face, and if it weren’t for the fact it was Sherlock lying there, he would’ve assumed she was asleep  
  
She had something to do that didn’t involve breaking, burning, or slicing something, and that was a definite improvement, he could deal with a few random moans now and then if that was the trade off

So he closed his eyes again, and smiled, walking around the Baker St in his head, even preparing himself imaginary tea

 

At some point he must’ve dozed off, because when he opened his eyes the lighting that greeted him was that of a dim evening, his eyes immediately landing on those of the consulting detective that was leaning over the side of the sofa, hands prompted on the edge of the cushion to support her, her curls veiling around her face like a halo of darkness, looking rather black in the low lighting

If he shifted up an inch or two, those soft looking locks would caress his face

“You were mimicking me…?” She said, not asked, the question in her tone betraying that she couldn’t read his motive for doing such a thing

“Yeah” he braced his hands on the hard floor and she leaned back as he sat up, rolling his shoulders back and wincing at the pops that followed the movement

Obviously the hard flooring wasn’t the best place for a nap, especially not with his shoulder

She continued looking at him, staring, like she could will the answer to her unasked question by her gaze alone

“Just brushing up an bit on my own ‘mind palace’, obviously not as good as yours”

“But of course,” her response was automatic as expected, before her lips twitched up at the corners “though there is a room similar to the one in which we are, modeled of 221b”

He didn’t bother asking how she knew that that was the only place he could imagine

“What do you store in there?”

“Information on you” she replied casually, moving to lie back down on the sofa and closing her eyes again like it was totally normal to tell your flatmate you had an entire flat in your mind dedicated to information you’ve collected on them

And he found himself wondering exactly how much was in that duplicate Baker St, and what exactly about him did Sherlock find worth remembering?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two has been updated to include a drawing of Sherlock in John's pants and a vest top, if anyone wanted to see it  
> It's anime styled (literally the only thing I can draw) and it is my own work, so please don't take it  
> More like it (mostly of different shows) can be found on my DeviantArt, in which I go by the same name


	6. 'Mrs. Watson'

John opened his eyes and was met with vague early morning light, somewhat darkened and musky by the sharp draw of curtains and air thick with dust.

Dazed, disoriented, and confused, he rolled his tongue in his mouth, the plaque build up and sticky feel suggested dehydration, and he didn’t recall going to bed at all last night. The phantom pain of his injured shoulder told him something hadn’t gone right during his case with Sherlock, and at the thought of her he shot up in the bed he was laying on, instantly regretting the movement when pain bloomed across his chest, arms, and stomach

The steady beeping monitor of the machine next to him helped him maintain his calm, and taking a deep breath, he took in his surroundings

It was obvious he was in a hospital, bandaged torso and stitched up arms reminded him he had been in a knife fight not long ago; the last thing he could remember was Sherlock pressing her expensive coat against the gaping wounds in an attempt to stop the bleeding until the ambulance came

She hadn’t caught the kidnapper because of it

Groaning softly, he shifted again; only to stop cold as soft head of curls caught the corner of his eye

Completely escaping his notice (Sherlock would be so disappointed in him) was Ms. Holmes herself, arms crossed on the bed and head resting on them like a schoolgirl falling asleep on her desk, her shirt was still stained with blood, as was the hand that was closest to his, the area suggested she had at some point been holding his hand before falling asleep, knowing her it’d been out of making sure his pulse was steady rather than rely on a machine, her form of showing concern, not much support to be offered to an unconscious person anyway, she’d never hold onto him without a logical reason

How long has she been here?

“Sherlock…” He called softly, but she didn’t stir, out cold and catching up on years of neglected sleep, the job and stress exhausting her beyond even her self-control could handle  
He took the rare opportunity to watch her, the subtle movements of her eyelids as she dreamed, the rise and fall of her back with every deep and even breath, her slightly parted lips looking surprisingly pink against the pale sheets of his hospital bed. 

“Excuse me, sir” a soft knock followed by a quick entrance caused John to dart his attention away from his sleeping flatmate, looking up towards the door and bringing one finger to his lips

The young woman, a nurse, widened her eyes in surprise before nodding in understanding

Quietly, she moved towards his side, and John stuck out his arm so she could test his vitals

“Your wife is very devoted, Dr. Watson, she hasn’t left your side all night” her tone was hushed as she checked the pulse of his wrist

“She’s no-” he quickly cut off his sentence, realizing whatever lie Sherlock had to tell in order to be allowed to stay was just fine, because if she set her mind to being by his side during recovery, he was happy “Y…yes, she really is…” John gave a smile that he knew came out shy, his free hand inching closer to Sherlock’s, brushing the edge of his pinkie to her thumb, and surprised to feel her cling to him immediately like an infant’s reflex; strong and steady though showing no signs of waking

The nurse smiled, filling out the information she gathered on his chart

“There aren’t any signs of infection, and the wounds are shallow, you should be free to leave by this afternoon” She spoke cheerfully, tucking loose red hair behind her ear “I’m sure you already know all the proper ways to treat your wounds but I’m afraid I have to explain anyways”

“It’s fine” John grinned “I’ve got all day, after all”

She giggled in reply, and nodded, launching into her explanations 

Once she left, he was a bit upset with Sherlock for claiming to be his wife, if she hadn’t, he could have asked for Amy’s (the nurse) number without seeming like he intended to make her a mistress

Letting out a sigh, he closed his eyes, and slipped right back into sleep

-

He woke again a few hours later to the feeling of eyes on him, so intense his body covered with gooseflesh

“Sherlock…?” He asked, cracking open one eye and blinking at the new level of brightness in the room

“Oh, good, finally. I was contemplating waking you, but the nurse informed me repeatedly it was ill advised”

“Injures like this require a lot of rest” John replied, moving slowly to sit up and giving her a grin which she returned with a smirk of her own “Mrs. Watson, then?”

“Hmm, even in a hypothetical situation where we were to wed, I highly doubt I’d so easily agree to changing my name. Holmes is a trademark”

John snorted, “Usually children get their father’s last names anyways, so seems like Mycroft will be the only one to pass it down”

Sherlock wrinkled her nose at that

“I doubt either I nor my brother will ever be having children, so speculation seems irrelevant” 

“Where will England be without another Holmes?” John joked, causing her to laugh

“Dr. Watson? You’re ready to be discharged, please sign out at the front desk” Amy came in, giving a bright smile

“Come, then, John, Lestrade should have been able to catch the culprit after the incident, but we should had back to the morgue to reevaluate some of his earlier victims for more   
links tying them to him”

“I thought you already knew he killed them when their families couldn’t pay ransom?”

“Of course I know, but I can’t prove it just yet, I don’t want to leave this in the hands of Scotland Yard, too likely to be screwed up, and we cannot allow this man to walk free”

“Alright” John replied, slowly rising from the bed and giving Amy, who looked at the two of them with a baffled expression, a final goodbye before making his way out of the   
hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so to address a review I got earlier just wanted to say Sherlock's height is NOT unrealistic
> 
> Let it be known the writer of this story is just as tall as Benedict Cumberbatch, and yes, I AM a girl, thank you very much. 183cm, exactly 6ft tall. 
> 
> So no, Sherlock will remain as is, the height difference is adorable regardless of the sex of either party, you gotta admit it, besides, John doesn't seem like the type to be put off by a girls height, afterall, only really insecure guys don't like women taller than them, John is hardly insecure about his masculinity right?


	7. Moriarty

Dear, sweetheart, darling, love. The various different names he’d given Sherlock, never addressing her as her real name, but whether it was to point out their obvious gender differences, or some sick form of flirting only psychopaths were capable of, John didn’t know. Only that every time the words left Jim’s lips, the anger in the pit of his stomach grew, and the only thing on his mind was shoving his fist down the creep’s throat

John was a soldier, a doctor, a healer and protector, and there was no way on earth he'd ever let that man touch Sherlock. He swore he’d guard her with his life, watch over her in every way possible, and if that meant pulling her back when she wondered a bit too close, locking her away when she wanted nothing more than to play the man’s sick games, if it meant making her regret and hate the day she met John, then so be it

As long as she stayed safe, a moth unconsumed by the lure of fire

 

But for what good was his decision? Because all he could do was wait. He just stood there, with explosives strapped to his chest, with his heart sinking into his stomach while the two bantered, compliments actually being said back and forth, admiring each other’s work, intelligence, the way their minds seemed too similar.

Yet what could he say, what could he possibly do? The red dots from snipers bounced and played across the expands of his body, threatening death with every slight movement, telling him to keep quiet, to let the geniuses talk

He had no place in their world, he realized. And Jim was much closer to Sherlock than he would like to admit, able to understand her in the most twisted, and darkest of ways

The second the mad man left, she got to work, dropping down on her knees in front of him. As her fingers fumbled with the bomb jacket strapped tight around his chest, as her hands shook, he looked down at her. Never thought for once she was capable of the expression she wore, the tension that radiated off her, the desperation of each movement.   
Sherlock Holmes, the Sherlock Holmes, was rattled down to her bones

“Alright? Are you alright?” she asked, yanking the explosives from his body and sliding it across the tiled floor

“Yeah…yeah I’m fine…Sherlock…Sherlock!” he called, attempting to calm her down, but the second she left his sight his leg buckled and nearly gave out from under him

And he leaned back against he wall in hopes of calming his racing heart and evening his breathing

“I’m glad no one saw that” he said quietly, his eyes focused on some unnamed point across the pools reflection. 

“Hmm?”

“You ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool, people might talk” he joked, an attempt to easy her obvious nerves

“People do little else” she replied, and a crazed smile, like many of the ones they shared during inappropriate times, split across her face, and they both burst out in maddening giggles that had no place in the situation they were in

Little thing as it was, it worked to reassure her, him, them both, that they were fine, they would be just fine


	8. Not A Date

“Did Halloween come early this year?” Anderson smirked, his eyes roaming up and down Sherlock’s figure, taking in the sudden change in her usual attire

“Your dilated pupils and increase respiratory rate are marks of arousal. You really should be more honest of your attraction to me, however disgusting and unwanted it may be” Sherlock rolled her eyes, turning towards Lestrade before the forensic analysis could reply

“The wire, tedious as it was to hide under this” she waved down at herself “Is fully functioning and in place. John has already arranged reservations and selected the seat closest to the subject without arousing suspicion. I will be joining him shortly.”

“Is it really fair to be wasting our time with this? It’s obviously just a cover-up for your date”

“I assume Donovan is already in position as well?” Sherlock continued, completely ignoring Anderson

Lestrade nodded and she was off, becoming more annoyed with her outfit with every clack of her heels

 

 

The restaurant in question was bright, full and surprisingly quiet for such a crowded business. The air was full of class and judgment found in those with well-lined wallets. High-class silverware lined expensive tableclothes, and a scan of the place revealed their intended target and John.

He was holding up a hand to a passing waiter to tell the man he wasn’t quite yet ready to order, his usual jumper and cardigan combo switched out for a nice suit and tie, and clearly not used to wearing such attire, his fingers danced along the edge of the tie a few times, loosening it and tightening over and over until the once straight triangle looked as though it was tied by a toddler

Finally, he looked up. And when he saw her, he was visibly stunned; it took him a few seconds to process her image

For almost a minute, he didn’t move, just stared at her, shocked, blinking a few times, unable to fully believe his eyes.

Of course he’d always been aware of her beauty, but, it seemed, this night, Sherlock was taking full advantage of her looks, bringing out each of her best features and emboldening them to the point it seemed unfair to every other woman on the planet that she even existed, having that appearance while never putting any effort in before, and the good doctor wondered how they were going to get through this ‘date’

It wasn’t as if this was something he wasn’t used to, of course, it happened before. More often than not did he and Sherlock pose as a couple to more easily blend into a crowd.  
People never spared them a second glance when her head was rested on his shoulder or his arm wrapped possessively around her slim waist. No one would ever think them to be one of the most dangerous duos in all of England; a genius detective and her solider/doctor guardian.

But, it was never like this. Normally she was dressed as usual, trench coat over a flattering suit, but John couldn’t ignore the figure hugging dress she was currently in. Its pitch-black color matching well with the smooth expands of her pale body, making her look ghostly white, flawless, untouchable, a statue carved of marble; an angel among humans. The thin strapped, sweetheart neck line dipped low, drawing eyes there as intended, and whatever she was wearing underneath held her chest up in the most flattering of ways, a teasing show of skin John unconsciously licked his lip to. The silky fabric continued downwards to her mid thigh, short, which was both flattering, as well as practical, John noticed, in case this ended with a chase. Even as ridiculously tall as she was, she didn’t hold back on shoes, strapped silver heels reaching around 3 inches high, and when he stood to greet her, he had to tilt his head up just to meet her eyes

“Anything yet?” she asked, red lips formed the words, and John almost didn’t hear her watching them

“Nothing…” He whispered in return, pulling out her chair so she could sit

He cleared his throat as he returned to his seat, slightly loosing his tie yet again and looking off to the side “You…you look nice…”

“Anderson seemed to think so…” She smirked, and John snorted in response

“Hit on you, then?”

“May as well have.” 

John shook his head, a smile on his lips

“This…suits you, you know.”

“Clothing like his is hardly practical, John. I would never wear it were it not for the circumstances”

“Easier to move in suits, yeah…” He looked away, suddenly not able to look at her

 

 

The rest of the night passed with a blur, and sometime later, they were both back at the flat, Sherlock pulling her hair up and out of her face, running John’s pocket-handkerchief over her mouth and staining it with blood red lipstick

One heel had broken during the commotion, and she had tossed both it and it’s pair into the streets and left them there, leaving John to carry her into the cab to avoid having her step on anything dangerous

She hadn’t bothered to thank him

“Lestrade has to stop calling us in for child’s play” she complained, flinging the cloth back at him and dramatically dropping onto the sofa, one foot held up in the air “my feet won’t recover from this”

“You’re the one who decided to bin your shoes”

“As if they have any worth broken” she sighed, pressing her soles into the armrest, the skirt of her dress pushing up dangerously and revealing the boxer shorts she wore underneath (really, he HAD to start locking his pants drawer) “besides, they were the main cause of my discomfort. There is no logic in wearing shoes you can’t do daily activities in without breaking out into blisters”

“Calm down” John sighed, pulling the coffee table a bit closer to sit on the edge, taking Sherlock’s right slender foot into his hand

“What are you doing?” she asked, raising one brow but making no effort to stop him

“Deduce” he rolled his eyes, running the pad of his thumb gently over her sole, feeling slight inflammation under his delicate touch 

“You’re giving me a massage”

“It will help keep the liquid from pooling under your skin, and stop the swelling” he said calmly, his fingers working soft circles from her heels up “You’re lucky the blisters aren’t actually on the soles of your feet, but I can clean and wrap them when I’m done”

“Hmm, and what would you recommend for a speedy recovery, Doctor?” she asked, sitting up a bit more and resting her chin to her palm

“Stay off your feet for a bit”

“Obviously” she rolled her eyes

John switched feet, giving a slight shake of his head 

“So, you never do that, then. Wear heels, I mean,” he asked casually, ignoring the quiet moan she let out when he put pressure on the arch

“Of course not, it’s ridiculous, as if I have any need to appear taller as is” she responded with a shake of her head “I’m 6 feet tall, John, hardly in need of an extra three inches”

He snorted, and she turned towards him, a smirk on her lips

“Perhaps they should make heels for men” she suggested, her eyes moving up and down his figure

“Oh, sod off” he replied, and they both giggled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visual aid! Sherlock's dress(and also her body type, kinda):  
>   
> I got really excited when I found this gorgeous dress (and model because damn)


	9. Irene

It was Irene Adler who had John questioning Sherlock’s claim of asexuality

The way the two women interacted, he sometimes wondered if he should look away from the sparks in their gazes and the obvious tension so thick he could cut it

It felt…smothering to be the same room as the two, like he was looking in on an intimate moment he had no business watching

He began to wonder introducing Sherlock to Harry, the only lesbian he knew, would be a good idea.  
Maybe not

Even Sherlock, insensitive, rude, and egotistical as she was, didn’t deserve his alcoholic little sister as a partner

 

“She was wrong, you know.” Sherlock answered his unasked question as she strolled into the flat, hanging her coat and stripping off the jacket underneath, leaving her in her silk button up shirt that probably cost more than John’s entire outfit combined

He didn’t say anything, simply folded his paper and gave her the look that said ‘explain’

“Irene Adler. It’s been weighing on your mind for quite some time, but you never asked in fear of crossing some nonexistent line” she said, before raising an eyebrow “Or perhaps you’re hesitant because I’m a woman”

“Sorry?”

“My sexual history, you’re curious” she replied, impatient, as always

It was one thing to think about it, but hearing Sherlock say it so casually, and quite loudly, caused a blush to creep up his neck and cover his face

He coughed into his hand in an attempt to hide it

It wasn’t that he was curious about her sex life, or that he felt he had the right to know, but the idea of Sherlock not having been with anyone, tall, beautiful, genius Sherlock, it didn’t seem plausible, but she hadn’t denied the nickname Mortiary gave her, leaving John to believe that maybe he was right

When he didn’t reply, Sherlock sat herself on her chair, one suit clad leg crossed over the other

“Well? I’m giving you free range to ask what you want, and do make it quick.” 

“Err…this isn’t something people usually discuss”

“We’re hardly usual” Sherlock countered, pulling her hair into a messy and sloppy ponytail so the curls didn’t fall into her face as much, allowing her full attention to be laser pointed onto John’s slightly pink face “besides, it’s not as if I don’t already know most of your history.”

“What do you mean, my history?”

“You’re heterosexual, but once your sister came out you became curious, along with being at war with almost strictly men, you experimented only to not find it to your liking. You prefer to be in a relationship before engaging others in intercourse but you’re no stranger to one-night stands. Your experience with pregnancy scares, along with being a doctor, makes you a fan of condoms, and as a result you have no current STD’s and plan to keep it that way, I assume?” she spoke with her usual rush “Should I continue or would you like to ask your questions now?”

John opened and closed his mouth a few times before shaking his head, muttering ‘brat’ under his breath

“So…you’re not one then…a virgin, I mean”

“Well, of course not. Do you honestly believe someone with my draw towards knowledge would allow myself to go without understanding the fundamentals of human desire?”

“And…you didn’t like it?”

“Hardly”

“Why?”

She breathed out an annoyed sighed

“I don’t see the point, nor the lure. I repeated the experiment with several different types of men, as well as women, the result was the same. It’s not something I find necessary, all the rutting and rather barbaric feel of it” she waved her hand through the air, as if dismissing memories of her past experiences “it drives on sentiment and is the primary reason most people commit murder.”

He couldn’t argue with that, that lust and jealousy could drive people to do insane things, but at its core, he couldn’t see sex as anything but beautiful, if done the right way

“It’s different, when it’s with someone you love” he said after a short pause

“Nonsense, there is no such thing. Only obsession and the need to control those closest to you”

John shut his mouth, letting out a deep breath and letting that comment go. Of course Sherlock didn’t believe in love, not with how dysfunctional her home life seemed to be, and the closest resemblance to family affection is Mycroft bugging the flat and worming into her life every way he could manage, love seemed like a far off concept

“It’s different, Sherlock” He replied, standing up and heading to his room “It’s just different…”

She watched him go, confused by the sudden air of distance between them


	10. The Violin

She had mentioned it in passing when introducing herself; but for the first two months he hadn’t actually seen her so much as pick up the instrument, allowing him to completely forget she mentioned it, the flat remaining relatively quiet those days

 

After waking him one random night from a rather nasty nightmare a few months into their friendship with the sound of rather sorrowful music at 2am, it became a bit more of a regular occurrence. Gradually, as if she was easing him into it, or perhaps herself, and it wasn’t until a few weeks after that did she continue the play upon him entering the room, no longer stopping to put it away, and slowly he won the rights to concerts in the sitting room, a cuppa in his hand and no longer bothering with a book he pretended to read, he’d just watched, as she moved to the rhythm, her body swaying like rivers at times or tensely straight with violent thrusts of her bow as sweat built on her brow. Just like the work, it seemed, whenever she played, she gave it her all, and it was break-taking to watch

 

He loved the music, as long as it wasn’t waking him up on nights where he was having a decent dream, of course, and he enjoyed whenever she played at regular hours  
He wondered vaguely what her initial hesitance stemmed from, and the idea of some form of self-consciousness came to mind, though coming from Sherlock it didn’t seem probable.

 

“Who taught you?” He asked one day as she swayed in front of the window, the sleek instrument held gingerly in her hand, her chin propped on the rest. The melody of the day was something peaceful, lazy almost, like film music played during happy moments, not overpowering but something enjoyed nonetheless, touching the room with a feel of ease

She froze in an instant, though; her body growing ridged and she lowered the violin, turning to face him, her face a controlled blank

“Why?” she asked, her tone suspicious

He backtracked, blinking a bit at the sudden shift of her mood, from content to wary in a heartbeat

“Curious” he responded with a shrug, taking a sip from his long cold tea

“Mycroft assigned a tutor to me as a child” she started after a rather long pause, as if debating whether or not to tell him, and he shifted a bit forward in his seat. It was rare of her to discuss her past at all, and he’d be damned if he would miss a single word she uttered. “He had said a proper lady needed fine skills in at least one classical instrument”

John snorted at that, to which Sherlock smirked, the tension in her shoulders dropping a fraction “My thoughts exactly. Though I back then, as embarrassing as it is to admit, admired my brother, and agreed to start in order to please him. As it turned out I had a natural talent, and soon surpassed his level”

“Mycroft plays?” 

“He did. Though switched to the piano out of humiliation, more fitting for him anyways, seeing as it’s more common for the musician to remain seated during the entire performance”

John snickered, covering his mouth with the back of his hand

The room grew quiet, and she paused for a second, before lifting the instrument again, tucking it under her chin and closing her eyes

There was something more intimate now, though, the way she held the violin, fingers dancing across its neck like a lover, bow caressing its strings  
It was as if Sherlock, as amazing and beautiful as she was to see before, had let go of a mask he hadn’t realized was there in the first place, and she was letting him see her just a little bit better

Watching her play, with emotions playing across her face, the obvious language of her body, he smiled, because she was exposing herself, pealing back layers to give him a peek, something so rare and he knew he was one of the only, if not only, person Sherlock would be so open to

He felt just a little bit closer to the detective after that


	11. Liar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for not updating, I recently had a baby and also I got married and also I got hit by a car (did I mention that before?) so like my life is hectic, but I'm gonna start writing again because my baby is 9 months now, I have more free time since she rather watch Kpop videos than hangout with her momma (my baby is half Korean so it's just her being exposed to one of the 3 languages she's gonna end up speaking since she's also half mexican and also living in america she's got Korean, English, and Spanish lined up for her)  
> So lets get this chapter out of the way, and I'll tell y'all something else at the end of the chapter

Sherlock Holmes was a bloody good liar, something that always shocked John whenever he saw it, and he always was left wondering how many of the things they’ve spoken of were simply bent truths, or just flat out fibs

She was graceful, rarely ever caught with her foot in her mouth, and even if she was, she’d talk her way around it like it was entirely normal

When Molly had brought Jim Moriarty over, introducing him as her boyfriend with obvious eyes roaming over Sherlock to look for some sort of reaction, the detective didn’t move

Instead Sherlock had merely glanced the man’s way after he had stumbled over something while leaning just a little too close to her for John’s comfort

And the detective turned her eyes back to microscope after a second and mumbled, almost under her breath but loud enough to hear ‘cheater’

Of course, after the slip of the tongue, she quickly recovered with “Hey there” and it was so smooth John wondered if he heard her correctly the first time

Of course Molly’s outburst after Jim had left was proof that he hadn’t, and Sherlock, being Sherlock, cruelly deduced why the man was unfaithful, ending with having been left his number, which Molly turned bright pink to and actually stormed out of the morgue

 

And there were other cases, like whenever she acted, pretending to have been a robbery victim for Irene, she slipped into the role so flawlessly John’s fingers twitched to hurt the imagery men that harmed her

Of course he was the one responsible for her disheveled appearance, Sherlock having pulled him into a nearby alley, telling him to hit her, something he would never do in a million years, so she repeated pushed, slapped, and actually punched him until he grabbed a hold of her to stop the attack, restraining her in the gentlest way possible as she thrashed about, leading to a rip in her too expensive of a shirt, the seaming pulled free in two places, buttons popping onto the floor, her hair more wild and disarrayed like she’d been through something serious, and he felt horrible even though he hadn’t done anything wrong

 

There were many different Sherlock’s she’d play, Victim Sherlock, Timid Sherlock, Angry Sherlock, Ditzy Sherlock, Bitchy Sherlock, Carefree Sherlock, Serious Sherlock, Flirtatious Sherlock, Drunk Sherlock, Crazed Sherlock, Cheating Sherlock, Devoted Wife Sherlock, and Sweet and Innocent Sherlock. He was inclined to prefer the latter two, for obvious reasons, she played the roll so well, slipping it on like a second skin he could almost believe she wasn’t the mad genius she was

But he wouldn’t trade the original for any of the faked copies. His favorite Sherlock was the ‘Crazed Genius Brat Detective Chasing Down Criminals at Midnight and Blowing Up Half the Flat by 2am as She Stayed Up For A Week Straight and Had To Be Forced Fed Tiny Amounts of Toast with Jam to Keep Her Alive Because She Couldn’t Manage That Herself Even Though She was Just So Bloody Brilliant’ Sherlock

And he wouldn’t have her any other way

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm adding a link to my commissions info to my profile if y'all wanna hire me to write you something from a fandom I'm in or just a poem in general, rather one shot, idc, but I'm disabled (hit by car) and I'm a stay at home momma so I wanna help my husband out by making some money commissioning my art, writing, edits, shit like that, and I also have a link to my online stores, and my Etsy shop   
> This story will be continued for sure without any need to pay for anything though so yay!


	12. Unwanted Reactions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so here's the next chapter, I'm gonna try maybe a new chapter once a week? I mean I finished this story ages ago, but I gotta space things out, you know? Anyways, I'ma tell y'all something else at the end again

The first time it happened, he was mortified

 

This case, like so many others, led them into a sticky situation where both their lives were at stake. Nothing new, nothing he couldn’t handle

But when he and his flatmate were forced into a new twist, he was less than pleased

They stood; face-to-face, cramped into the tight confides of the dusty old wardrobe, hiding out from god knows what as Sherlock’s slender fingers covered his lips, effectively silencing his question before it was asked

Tall as she was, she leaned over him, and their breath mingled together, causing the humidity in the air to rise as quickly as his heart rate, their noses brushing while she stared from out the crack between the doors, intensely focusing on the room

A tall man, measuring around 6’4” entered, his eyes darting across the area like he was aware of their presence, that something was off, before cautiously sitting on the bed in the center, the springs creaking in protest of his weight as he chubby fingers stabbed at the mobile in his other hand

Sherlock’s arm snaked around John’s waist, grabbing at the gun hidden beneath his jumper to retrieve it since his arms were currently pressed against her slender hips, holding her in place so she didn’t slip out

Words were being screamed out by the suspect, important no doubt, but for the life of him John couldn’t bring himself to pay attention, only focused on the immediate danger at hand, and Sherlock’s body pressed to his chest

Rush of adrenaline and testosterone didn’t mix too well, and he saw Sherlock’s eyes widen in surprise as a look of pure horror etched his own features  
She blinked a few times, shifting their stances so the obvious bulge of John’s tented trousers wasn’t pressed against her thigh so prominently

The rest of the night was a blur, and soon, before he realized it, they were in the cab ride home. 

He cleared his throat, and she didn’t mention it at all

 

After that incident, it seemed to become almost a regular occurrence, happening practically any time she was pressed against him, she left the shower, arrived at Buckingham palace wrapped in only a sheet that her damned brother stepped on and gave John that most wonderful and totally inappropriate view of her backside, or any other time he caught a glimpse of too much skin, as if his body could no longer determine the difference between Sherlock and any other woman. She wasn’t some average girl someone could just pick up off the street and invite to dinner; she was Sherlock, untouchable, unmovable, a force of nature Sherlock Holmes.

She never brought it up, or pointed it out; even when it was so obvious even someone without her skills of deduction could figure out it wasn’t his gun he was sporting in his trousers, and for that, he was grateful.

Still, this was a serious problem. One that reminded him that his love life was in the toilet and he hadn’t gotten off in…well, he didn’t even remember the last time he had a successful girlfriend, not when Sherlock demanded his attention and he’d rather run around London than spend an evening having dinner

He just needed a reminder, a slap in the face to say that no matter how beautiful, how within arms reach she was, she was still thousands of miles away, in a different world all together, the self proclaimed sociopath seemed more like a lion among domestic cats than any normal human in the basic population

Dozens of cold showers and bleeding lips later, he still found himself digging his blunt fingers into his good leg to distract himself whenever she decided clothing wasn’t necessary or that personal space, even two different genders, didn’t apply to her

She was going to be the death of him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I'm trying to get my hands on an automatic wheelchair because manual ones hurt my arms, I put a link to the donations in my profile description, but also [here](https://www.youcaring.com/jazlopezra-972039?utm_campaign=buttonshare&utm_medium=url&utm_source=copy&utm_content=cf_cp_01) if you wanna help a cripple out


	13. Denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware that the chapters start to get kinda short as the story progresses but there will be a lot more before the story ends  
> I also changed the tags on the fic in case y'all wanna stop reading it or not

If you asked him outright why he was always so quick to correct any assumptions, John would have responded with the typical ‘because none of it is true’

But he never actually had time to stop and think: why? Why was it so important to constantly make it known ‘we’re not a couple’ ‘I’m not her date’ ‘she’s not my girlfriend’?

 

Sherlock Holmes was a gorgeous woman, and in all honesty, John always felt a small swell of pride whenever people asked him how long they’d been together, but always, he quickly squashed the feeling, because, it wasn’t his to have, right? He couldn’t be happy that people thought someone like Sherlock would go for someone like him, because it hardly seemed fair to her

A compliment to him, an insult to her

 

So from the very first time they worked a case, telling Ms. Hudson that of course they’d be needing two bedrooms, tried to make it as clear to Anglo as possible that a candle was not necessary, and stood a respectful distance away whenever they traveled because it was obvious by the Yarders reaction that Sherlock never brought anyone in tow behind her so him following her meant more than mere acquaintances as they were at the time

Strangely enough, though, Sherlock never said anything. She would continue on, not correcting a single assumption made about the two of them, and he wondered if she truly couldn’t care what people thought, or if she couldn’t be bothered to correct the rumors because she knew John would get to it

 

‘We’re not a couple’  
‘Yes you are’

 

The first challenge he received, and he didn’t know how to handle it, so he stumbled over his words for a bit, opening and closing his mouth a few times before finally settling on telling Irene what mattered most, that she needed to let Sherlock know

And that was the end of that

 

Sometimes he wished that Sherlock would actually express interest in men, women, anyone (other than fugitives of the British government or madmen with bombs) so that she could finally find someone, as irrational as that was, then he could easy and squash the little glimmer of unlabeled emotions that bubbled up whenever someone would mention what a cute couple they were

 

He could only handle so much, after all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a TKR coming up so for the most part I may start updating sooner than later, again I finished this story ages ago but I do need to go back and make slight edits since I wrote this fic 3 years ago and my style has changed a bit


	14. So Much For That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, here's an update, and also, notes at the bottom again

She bit her bottom lip, pinching the full red flesh between two perfectly white rows of teeth, and John’s eyes immediately dropped to them as planned

“Being a doctor, you must help a lot of people,” She said, in her Irish drawl, twirling a strand of curly black hair in one pale finger

“It’s rewarding” He smiled, leaning forward so his jumper clad elbows rested on the table between them

An hour in, and no disturbances, John wondered if tonight would be the night he finally managed to take someone home

With no constant texts from Sherlock, the night seemed to be headed in that direction, and having already explained the living situation, a little fib of Sherlock being a cousin thrown in, he saw no reason why tonight wouldn’t be the end to his too long dry spell

The woman, April, played a little with what remained of her salad, her candy apple eyes dancing along the plate before coming to meet John’s

“Maybe we could go back to your place…for a cup of coffee?” She asked, with a fake air of hesitance, as if trying to say she didn’t do this often

John’s response was a flirtatious smile and calling the waiter down for the check

 

When they climbed the steps to Baker street, the lights inside were switched off, and John allowed himself a little sliver of hope that maybe Sherlock was out of the evening, that she’d taken the hint that his date may work out better than expected and given him some time alone in their flat

That hope was quickly squashed, however, when he opened the door, and there she lay, across the sofa she was so fond of, one long leg crossed over the other, sporting a powdered blue tank top and pajama bottoms that were clearly made from women closer to 5’5” and not 6 ft. Her dressing gown sprawled out on the floor by her feet; fingertips pressed together under her chin.

“Um…Sherlock…?” John called softly, testing if his flatmate could even hear him, or was too deep in her ‘mind palace’ to

“Oh, is this your cousin?” April asked

Sherlock’s eyebrow went up, but she didn’t say anything, and for that, John breathed out a sigh of thanks

“Er…yeah…” He said shyly, a guilt building in his stomach that had no business there

“Nice to meet you, Sherlock, I’m April” his date cheerfully introduced herself, and Sherlock merely cracked an eye open, flickering it over the woman’s figure before closing it again and muttering “Married”

“Sorry?” They asked in union

“Come now, John, surely even you noticed the tan line on her finger”

“She’s separated…” John offered with a furrow of his brows, turning back towards April with a questioning look

“Too fresh. If she had been separated long, the recent sunny weather over the past two months would have faded the lining, the obvious mark and indents suggest the ring was removed today, this night to be precise, I assume just before your date. If you look over the right side of her neck, you’ll notice the skin there is of a slightly different color, makeup, to hide the love bites left by her husband, or perhaps one of the three other men she’s choosing to sleep with. Knowing your morals, I assume you wouldn’t have brought her here with intentions to engage in intercourse had you known.”

 

The silence that hung through the air was deafening, but Sherlock didn’t seem to notice, just fell quiet and waited for the information to process  
“Is that true…?” John asked hesitantly

“W-what? Y-you can’t honestly believe I’m a cheater?!” April stuttered out, and a smirk broke across the detective’s face

“Your word against my own, I wonder whom John will believe” she chimed in, sounding much more smug than necessary 

The conversation that followed was filled with loud curses and fake tears on April’s half, and quiet muttered apologies and gentle nudges towards the door on John’s  
When it was all over, John closed the door to their flat, sighing and leaning against it

“Well that was tedious” Sherlock muttered, “Her presence was distracting”

John opened his mouth to respond, but decided better of it, simply retrieved his laptop from the kitchen table and retreated up the stairs towards his room

 

Sherlock remained lying; and tried not to think about how the women were looking more and more like her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I managed to gain enough money to buy my new electric wheelchair! So thank you to any and all that donated! I'm super excited 
> 
> Also, I will try and learn how to update via my phone because using my laptop with an 11 month old is very very difficult


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